


Dreamcatcher

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-06
Updated: 2009-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt finds out something about Mohinder's past that he'd just as gladly not have ever known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamcatcher

Matt doesn't mind working late some nights. He misses the chance to tuck Molly in, the nightly Family Guy reruns, the smell of chamomile from Mohinder's last cup of tea. Still, when he eases his way through the door, carefully avoiding the squeaky spots in the floor, there are other little rewards to be had: peeking in on Molly, resting peacefully and sometimes mumbling in her sleep; not having to answer questions or fight for a turn in the bathroom, and Mohinder.

Oh, Mohinder. Lately the scientist hasn't even made it to bed, nodding off in his desk chair or on the couch, his cheek taking the imprint of the rough upholstery. An empty teacup at one elbow, his hand hangs limp over the arm of the couch, and Matt laces his fingers with Mohinder's as he leans in to kiss the smooth cinnamon forehead, half-smiling.

What Matt sees drives away his peace, the sweet restful feeling of being home.

_Mohinder's hands clench in dark fabric, lean bodies pulled into each other by the gravity of desire; fingers tug at black curls and Mohinder looks up at a face, a pale angular face, dark eyes, big nose, thick brows, stubble; Sylar smiles, nuzzles his nose against Mohinder's, touches his throat with casual tenderness; those evil lips frame Mohinder's name silently--_

Reeling back, Matt jerks his hand away too sharply. Mohinder shifts, sighs, blinks until he can focus on his lover halfway across the small room. "Matthew?" His voice is still honey and heat, half-asleep; he reaches out a hand, inviting Matt closer. "When did you get home?"

"A few minutes ago." Matt can't keep his voice steady-- that's his giveaway, always has been, and his continued distance brings a wrinkle to Mohinder's brow.

"Sounds like you had a rough day." After another minute Mohinder lets his hand fall and resorts to simply watching, trying to figure out without powers what Matt could lift from him with a glance. The stiff set of broad shoulders, the downturn of a mouth too used to smiling, but most of all the way Matt's eyes skate Mohinder's form, over or beside but never actually on him, leave a sinking feeling in the pit of Mohinder's stomach. "Did I do something?" he guesses hesitantly.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Matt shakes his head. If he hadn't intruded, he wouldn't have seen Mohinder's dream-- a dream with more than a touch of memory to it-- but he hadn't meant to see, hadn't meant to do anything but say hello to his sleeping sweetheart. "Not really," he finally says when the silence becomes uncomfortable. "Nothing I meant to see. I swear."

"You're being cryptic again," Mohinder says with a roll of his eyes, and pats the couch next to him. "What was it? Another nightmare about losing you?" When Matt settles, inches between their bodies, Mohinder twines their fingers together, the smallest and most frequent affection they share. "You know I don't remember my dreams."

"I know," Matt says quietly. He still won't meet Mohinder's eyes, focusing on their paired hands. "I don't think you want me to tell you. Trust me."

"It was in my head, Matthew. I doubt I don't know it already." The gentle teasing did nothing to alleviate Matt's sobriety; Mohinder laid his head on Matt's shoulder and sighed. "It's easier on me when I know for sure what you know."

"Did you kiss Sylar?" The question blurted itself out, despite Matt's attempt to rephrase, maybe lead up to it. "I mean, he's tried to kill all three of us, and if you're dreaming about, well, that's one thing, but that wasn't just a dream, and--" Mohinder slapped a hand over Matt's mouth, stemming the flow; his cheeks had gone ruddy.

"That. Oh, Jesus." Mohinder's head fell forward, his thoughts an incomprehensible muddle, loud enough for Matt to hear unintentionally. "It's a long... well. I can give you the short answer. But I'd prefer that you allow me to explain, and I'll permit you to look into the long answer."

"You-- you'd really? How serious is this, Mohinder?" An offer to let Matt into his mind was something Mohinder had made only twice before, but both reasons had been very, very good ones. Mohinder looked grim, lips pressed thin, and he pulled Matt's hand to his own head, leaning into the touch.

"Serious enough that I really, really don't want to have to explain verbally." All Matt could hear was a steady undertone of _he's going to hate me he'll find me revolting I don't want to lose him I can't I can't can't lose him_, and he couldn't let Mohinder go on like that. As soon as Matt's strong arms encircled Mohinder's shoulders, the smaller man sighed, resting his head on Matt's shoulder. "The short answer is yes," he admitted, and opened the walls he'd learned to put up to keep Matt on the other side.

Once, Matt had caught the memory of a marketplace in Madras, the heat and the colors and the spice and sweat and rush; he didn't realize how accurate a metaphor that would be for the inside of Mohinder's agitated mind. Mohinder propelled Matt to the right booth, the banners and side panels of black, no table for wares, just another drape of fabric with a slit for a door. _In here._

Matt eased into the closed-off memories, picking his way carefully. It didn't take long to comprehend the few days of Mohinder's life that had been shamefully secreted here: the thrill of acceptance, validation of Chandra's work and Mohinder's own; the awe of finding a new ability; the fear of the monster prompting him to accept Zane as a companion on his way; the long hours in the car--

_Your room key, Mohinder had said, handing it to Zane, who took it with a speculative glance before beaming at the smaller man. You don't know what you've done for me, Mohinder, and then the sweep in, the cold hands on stubbling cheeks, the lips that blocked out the pale outdoor light._

Dale Smithers, mutilated in her garage. Fear again, sour and sharp in every cell of Mohinder's body; Zane trying in his awkward way to comfort, _wasn't your fault Mohinder, really_; switching off driving and another motel in Indiana, one room key--

_Mohinder disarmed, the armor of his messenger bag, his research, set aside carefully; coats and shoes and the drone of cheap motel tv while they switched off in the bathroom; the dark voice drawing Mohinder's name out: hands clenching a t-shirt, mouths in a desperate clasp, hearts beating **life life life** and skin singing **alive, alive**, and Zane Taylor's nose dragging back along Mohinder's, breathing his name so softly._

Recognition, betrayal, the sharp edges of anger and loss. A poisoned cup of chai. The long moments of looking at Sylar's face and seeing only the sleepy profile of Zane Taylor. The spinal tap. _And it's going to hurt._ The bullet. Blood dripping from his painful place on the ceiling.

Matt was as careful leaving as he had been entering, loathe to hurt one synapse of Mohinder's brilliant mind. When all he could feel were curls on his cheek and the bite of Mohinder's fingers into his kneecap, Matt opened his eyes.

"...well?" Mohinder prodded when Matt didn't speak. His eyes were fearful, but his hands were steady on Matt's skin. "Please, Matt, tell me you understand..."

Mohinder's lips tasted of chamomile, still, and his scent wrapped around Matt like a well-worn blanket. "I'm sorry," Matt murmured between kisses, barely pulling away. "I'm sorry he tricked you that way." The way Mohinder's betrayal had felt was the same crushed-glass sensation as when he found out Janice's infidelity, when he found out the baby wasn't his. Pure hope dashed to pain. "I get it. Oh, Mohinder."

"...so you don't hate me?" Matt shook his head, a grizzly-bear rumble working through his chest.

"Never. We've all fucked up. You didn't even know." For a moment they sat, heads together, hands fleeting on arms, knees, cheeks, before Matt pushed himself from the couch and held both hands out. Mohinder went willingly, letting Matt tuck him under one arm as they moved to the bedroom. "Just tell me you don't have that dream very often."

"Don't be silly, Matthew." Wrapping his arms around Matt's shoulders, Mohinder leaned up to brush his lips over the curve of one ear. "You're the one in every night's dreams."


End file.
